#its like if everyone does then rather it them than me...

[jeanystillbeany]

BillFord Fic 3

yippee no pacing.

 “What do you mean the portal is destroyed?!”  The triangle sat atop a large throne made from the majority of Gravity Fall’s residents.  The lacky ticked nervously at Bill’s clear annoyance.  In fact, the whole Fearamid was silent in response to the demon’s rage.  

  “It-it was smashed-“ the green monster explained with a shudder.  His eyeballs were blackened with eight-balls as his pupils.  

  “Well thanks!  That’s exactly what I was- NOT asking for!  Details eight-ball.  Details.”  Bill Cipher seethed.  Eight-ball shook as he tried to explain without suffering from his ring-leader’s unhinged mood.  

  “We- m-me an-and Pyronica- we- we were g-going to move t-the portal here- like you said- but- but it- something smashed it.  N-nothing useful.  We-we haven’t found the creature-“

  “Get out.” Bill Cipher’s face darkened.  

  “Boss- look we-“

  “GET OUT.”  Eight-Ball was quick to rush out of the room as Bill’s typically yellow form turned a fiery red and twice its already exaggerated size.  

  After his henchman scampered out of the room, Bill let out a heavy sigh and laxed into his chair.  If he had temples he’d be rubbing them, but for now the space above his single haunting eyeball would do.  

  “Thirty years… thirty fucking years Stanford…”  Bill began talking amongst himself, “I waited.  I actually thought you weren’t dead!”  Bill’s voice breaks off into a cluster of unstable laughter.  The worst part of all this is that he knew it was his fault.  He pushed Ford.  He pushed him away.  He might as well have been the one to push him into that damn portal.  Ford was gone.  He always was.  That was it.  He has no one holding him back now.  Bill believed that the lack of anyone would push him forward.  He thought he’d be free… but if that were the case, then why does he feel so restrained?    He thought that if all connection to that nuisance was lost- he’d rather have the world than him.  Why is it the other way around?

  “FUCK!”  Bill yelled abruptly in frustration.  The world around him morphing with his emotions.  

  “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- you stupid dumb- IDIOT!”  The demon groaned as he slumped back into his chair defeated.  Stanford was gone.  There was no denying that.  Cipher decided that it was time to stop throwing his little temper tantrum and cut himself off with a stubborn sigh.  

“I have living Pines to worry about. But first…”

  Bill snapped his fingers and two of his ‘friends’ popped into the room.  One of them looked like a pair of dentures with legs while the other was a pink woman with flaming clothes.  

  “Teeth, Pyronica.  I have a job for you two.  Go find the dumbass that destroyed the portal.  And make it pay.  Have fun!  -and I don’t want to hear that it’s even twitching!  Or I’ll be the one ‘having fun’.  Buy gold!  Bye!”  Bill didn’t give them a chance to respond as he teleported them to the remains of Ford’s lab with a maniacal laugh.  As soon as they were gone he ripped off his mask and groaned back into his chair again.  Or was that a sob?  He couldn’t tell anymore.  It’s not like it mattered anyway.  

  Sixer was gone.  

  And he was going to make everyone pay for it.  

~

  Sixer and Dipper conversed excitedly in the TV room.  It was as though they were two old friends reconnecting, even though they haven’t had much conversation until now.  The interaction began with Ford approaching Dipper about the modifications he made to the shield to keep Bill out.  Dipper explained that he found gnome hair to have a sort of repellency to unicorn hair- this caused the shield to nonchalantly cause the target to forget the shack was there. 

  “It actually ended up being surprisingly useful this far in!”  Dipper chirped, “it keeps us from getting any sort of Eye-Bat’s attention from up to 100 feet of the mystery shack.”  Ford nodded and began writing the new discoveries down in his journal while mumbling other theories.  Eventually the pair trailed off to talking about other topics and somehow got caught up on their favorite nerd game ‘Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons’.  

  “Hey- if you’re up for it- I wouldn’t mind playing with you sometime.”  Ford grinned at his nephew.  

  “Yeah… after all this is hopefully over…” Dipper sighed.  

  “We must indulge in playing immediately!”  Ford claimed rising from his chair in enthusiasm.  Dipper was a little startled at the sudden attitude- yet appreciated the change from everyone else’s hopeless expressions.  While Dipper did seem to find some condolences in the gesture, fate planned on getting Ford back for his little scare anyway.  

  As Ford began to help Dipper search the shelves for their game, the door to the Mystery Shack suddenly slammed shut  rather clumsily.  Ford jumped in response and glared at the direction the door was in with a raised eyebrow.  

  The man took his curious expression with him for a moment as he paused his task and traveled to a nearby window.  Outside, he could easily distinguish where the barrier ended.  A trail of some of the survivors living inside the shack followed a certain Stanley pines out of the barrier.  

  “Stanley…” Ford muttered under his breath in warning as if the other could hear him.  

  “What is it?” Dipper asked curiously and followed Ford to the window.

   “Oh…” Dipper observed his Grunkle and his team leaving to get the supplies in the bunker.  

  “Does he even know where it is?  What if the shapeshifter is loose by now!”  Stanford sputtered.  Despite being much younger than the other twins, Dipper understood the feeling.  

  “You should go after him!  I can help too!”  Dipper said.  

  “No.  Absolutely not.  You are going to be staying in the shack where it’s safe.”  Ford commanded.  

  “C’mon!  Seriously?  I can do stuff too!  Why does Grenda get go then?!  She’s the same age!”  Dipper complained in response.  

  “I’m still your great-uncle Dipper.  We will play D, D and more D when I get back.”  Ford retreated from the window and began scouring around the shack for his coat- then realizing it was torn.  He grabbed all the items inside of it and placed them into his satchel.  In the meantime, Dipper followed him around like a lost puppy begging to come along on the adventure.  

  “Please Grunkle Ford!  I’ve been sitting around here for weeks!  Do you seriously expect me to just sit here?!”  Dipper pleaded.  

  “Yes.  Yes I do- now try and set our game up while I’m gone.”  And with that final sentence Ford left Dipper in the Mystery Shack.  

  Ford discreetly traveled behind the group set to the bunker.  He hid behind trees and trudged out of sight from his brother.  As the survivors and Stanford traveled, he noticed many familiar landmarks from the new Gravity Falls everyone was trapped in.  Weirdly enough, it seemed Stanley was leading everyone back to the lab.  Stanford supposed it wasn’t the dumbest idea.  The pure insanity of the state of the world has caused their usual surroundings to change immensely.  It was a decent idea to have a safe point in case someone got separated or they found the terrain has changed too greatly for them to find the bunker from memory.  It has only been a day and Ford found himself missing his now completely trashed lab.  After a few hours of walking, group finally made it to the lab.  The ghost of the mystery shack still stood atop of it.  The group decided to take a short break. 

  “I can’t believe boss did that?!  What’s up his ass today?”  

  “Yeah I know!  Seriously!  What’s so important about this dumb portal anyway?  We’re already out of that damned dimension.  I don’t see what’s so important about it.”  Everyone froze at the voices heard from the remains of the underground lab.  No one dared move a muscle as Wendy signed a few things to Stanley and everyone stayed silent.  For a moment all anyone could hear was sounds of Bill’s henchmen complaining while rummaging through debris.  Everyone began to slowly retreat away from the mystery shack silently- careful not to step on any sticks.  Ford observed with a clenched jaw, and he’d find five half-moons imprinted in his palm if he looked at his hands later.  One by one, each survivor made it out of the clearing and into the cover of the brambles.  The man still continued to stay in hiding until the final group member was out of sight.  

  Everyone was breathless as they silently waited for the monsters to leave the area.  It was quiet other than the loud clacking of metal from underground in the lab.  

  “Hey- where’d they go?”  A pre-teen boy emerged from the same direction the group and Ford had come from just minutes before.  He ignorantly stepped out into the clearing with a huff.  The entire group’s eyes swarmed the familiar voice.  Ford felt his hair stand on end at the tense atmosphere.  Ford began to sweat as Dipper carelessly walked away from all cover.  Wendy popped her head out from the bushes.  

  “Dipper!” Ford acknowledged the panicked look in her eyes as she frantically waved him over back towards the forest.  He also noticed Stan had poked his head out of the brush as well- attempting to aid Wendy in trying to get some sense of alarm into Dipper’s skull.  

  “Oh!  Hey Wendy!”  Dipper exclaimed- being too far away to accurately read her facial expressions.  Ford found himself among the two others that desperately tried to get Dipper to safety.  It was only about a minute when Ford realized the pace of Dipper’s understanding was much too slow for him to accurately comprehend the danger in time.  The boy’s newest uncle took note of the way his twin’s eyes widened in shock before scowling in disappointment as he revealed himself into the clearing.  

  “Hi Grunkle Ford!  Why are you all over there?”  The named Grunkle winced at his nephew’s volume as the noises in the bunker abruptly stopped followed by chattering.  

  “Did you hear something?”  

  “Yeah actually!  Almost sounded like one of those brats…” Ford grabbed Dipper’s arm and pulled him behind himself.  He carefully backed away in order to not make any noise.  He held his breath as he looked back at the distance between himself and the forest.  

  “Well, well well!  Look what we have here Pyronica!”  Ford’s attention darted to the voice that came from the teeth demon.  It then went to the named pink one who towered over him.    

  “Look, it’s the old man and his nephew!  Love the new look… didja… do something with your hair?”  The pink demon flicked the floof of his hair as he pushed himself further in front of Dipper.  

  “What do you say we do with ‘em?”  Teeth asked.  

  “I say, we feed it to the wretch that destroyed our best friend’s portal!”  Pyronica grinned- pinching Stanford’s cheek.  He glared as his hand slowly moved to his satchel.  

  “Aww… I wanted a few bites…”  Teeth said disappointed.  

  “Oh, I’m sure you can have your fair share-“ Pyronica cut herself off as she noticed Ford’s movements towards his bag, “oh!  That could’ve been bad now couldn’t it?” She gleamed as she tore Ford’s satchel off his shoulders and tossed it to the side.  Ford fell backwards- pushing Dipper aside and held his shoulder to lighten the impact.  

  “Hey!  You leave my Grunkle alone!”  Dipper exclaimed fiercely.  He sat up- but Ford held him back.  He gave his nephew’s shoulder a squeeze to signal to him to stop, but the fire in his relative raged on.  

  “Oh!  So we got ourselves a yapper!  How cute…” Pyronica said tipping Dipper’s hat as she leaned menacingly over the pair.  

  “I say we eat them now!”  Teeth jumped in.  

  “Oh- but Bill would be so much more pleased if we brought Stanley back… you know how much he despises him.”  Pyronica pointed out as she reached for Ford and Dipper.  

  “Hey!”  Everyone’s heads darted towards the new voice- shocked to be seeing double.  Stanley stood fiercely and moved in front of his brother and Dipper.  He had Ford’s bag draped over his shoulder and his brother’s gun pointed at the monsters.  

  “Is- is this just me?  Or am I a little crazy here?  I think I had too much Time Punch…” Teeth exclaimed.  He then got abruptly shot right on one of his front teeth.  

  “AHH A CAVITY!”  Teeth exclaimed taking shelter back in the lab.  

  “You stay away from my family.”  Stanley said sternly before pointing the gun at Pyronica who continued to look between the two.  She grumbled with her hands up and rolled her eyes.  

  “And what is that stupid little gun gonna do huh-“ Pyronica was caught off guard as a zap of an unknown blue energy zipped past her face- giving her a nasty burn on her cheek bone.  She hummed before snapping her fingers expecting the injury to heal immediately.  When she still noticed a burning sensation, she snapped again.  The pink demon began snapping repeatedly until realization finally got through her thick skull.  Pyronica huffed in defeat.  

  “Teeth!  We’re leaving these cowards.”  She growled before following teeth back into the abandoned lab.  A large force of pink energy shot out of the top.  Ford presumed this to be an indication of teleportation.  

  Stanley still stood there tense long after the demons retreated.  The gun was still pointed at the lab where the demons never reemerged.  Ford brushed himself off and helped Dipper up before placing a hand on his twin’s shoulder.  Stanley sighed before lowering the gun and standing there for a moment.  

  He slowly turned around and pulled Ford into a hug.  

  “See?  I told you!  I would’ve thought you remembered…”  Stanley mumbled.  Ford hugged his twin back- knowing exactly what he was referring to.  

  “What that you’re always right?”  Ford asked.  

  “Yeah,” Stanley pulled himself away, but firmly gripped Ford’s shoulders, “Now can someone tell explain to me what was going on inside of that stupid head of yours!  I told you to stay in the shack!  But then you not only go off but bring Dipper with you?!”  Stan glared at his brother. Ford opened his mouth to respond before Dipper cut in.  

  “…it’s my fault Grunkle Stan… Grunkle Ford told me to stay in the shack.  I followed him.”  He admitted with his eyes aimed at the floor.    Stanley let go of his brother’s shoulders and sighed.  

  “Hey Dipper… look at me…” Stan said in an earnest manner.  Dipper followed his instructions as his uncle put a hand on his shoulder.  

  “That was stupid,” his uncle said bluntly, “very, very, very, very stupid.”  Dipper awaited a second stanza to his Uncle’s statement but received none other than a sly ‘you too’ towards Ford.  Stanley gave Ford’s bag back to him and the gun (with slightly more hesitation and borderline begging to keep it).  The group emerged from the forest.  Wendy even came up and slapped her boss on the back in victory.  

  After that fiasco the resource retrieval team decided they needed a proper break.  They all sat down in a group and quietly chatted amongst each other, sipping water, and savoring rations.  Ford took to savoring the peace.  He leaned his back up against a tree as he began writing the recent events into his journal.  His knees propped the journal open sufficiently, tucked about a foot from his chest.  Dipper was huddled closely beside him, anxiously asking questions with the excitement of Mabel.  Eventually Ford caved in and stretched out his legs- putting the journal at a better angle for Dipper to see.  The boy quaffed the words  written as soon as he was given a chance.  As Dipper read, Ford ruffled through his bag.  

  “What are you looking for Grunkle Ford?”  Dipper peaked from the book for only a second.  

  “One moment Dipper… ah.  Here we are!”  Ford’s six fingered hand removed itself from the bag, holding out a second pen to Dipper.  The boy looked at it questioningly.  

  “Well, I wanted to write about our encounter just now.  I thought that maybe you could help.”  Stanford shrugged, still having the pen held out to Dipper.  The 13-year-old took it eagerly, looking up to Ford in admiration.  The Grunkle put the book between themselves- giving each other about a paragraph.  The first few sentences were messy trying to figure out some sort of system in journaling with twice as many people.  Though, they both figured it out just fine in the end.  

  Stanley sat by a tree across from them- nonchalantly eating a can of brown meat.  Ford couldn’t help but notice the occasional longing glances his brother stole from them.  Ford sighed with a fond smile before motioning for Dipper to pause when they got to retelling the events that just occurred.  

  “Is something wrong Grunkle Ford?”  Dipper asked stopping mid sentence.  

  “No, no Dipper.  In fact- everything is great.  Though… I thought that maybe the man of the hour should write his own part.”  Ford shrugged.  

  “Really?”  Dipper looked skeptical before shrugging, “Fine.” 

  Ford nodded satisfied before calling his brother, “Hey!  Stanley!”  He waved his brother over.  

  Stan perked up as soon as he heard his brother call him, but then immediately slouched again.  It was as though he wanted to suppress the smile that came from a feeling he thought he lost with his brother 31 years ago.  Stanley lazily sauntered over.  Though Ford could see the gleam in his eye whenever he chatted with his family.  

  “So what’d you nerds need?”  Stan sat down in front of them.  

  “Oh!  Grunkle Ford wants you to help us write an entry in his journal.”  Dipper exclaimed- sliding the book over to his other great-uncle.  

  Stanley’s eyes widened at the gesture and gave Ford a questioning look.  He never let him touch his work.  Stanley always thought it was because he believed that he’d mess it up somehow.  Ford only nodded in responds and handed Stanley a pen.  He grinned and began jotting where the other two left off.  

[yeehawbvby]

The Winter to his Spring (March x F!Farmer)

Rating: Teen+ 

Summary: March reluctantly (not really) accepts a snack from the farmer. Later that night, he returns the favor by tending to her new wounds (he couldn’t stand to see her hurt). All the while, he does his best to ignore how much she annoys him (he’s smitten, but struggles to admit it even to himself)

Check it out on ao3!

March stared daggers into the back of Mistria’s newest farmer as she talked to his brother, making her typical rounds through the village to gather errands before disappearing to do gods know what in the narrows to fulfill them.

She was quiet. Reserved. Aloof. She seemed like she wouldn’t be as generous as she is. 

Her icy blue eyes could slice diamonds, her lacking expressions were jarring, and her mild rasp gave her soft voice an edge that didn’t match its words. 

Her smile, when it graced her lips, was as bright as the sun reflecting off of snow; and the dimples it formed on her almost-sickly pale skin were footprints, leaving dents in the substance after a heavy flurry. 

She was everything March wasn’t. For starters, her name was December. 

Fucking December… seriously? 

She was the winter to his spring. He ran warm, she ran cold. He was kinda tall, she was kinda short. He was uptight and easily agitated while she was outwardly calm and sometimes a little goofy, even under his blunt scrutiny. 

He was jealous of her innate smithing abilities while she didn’t even enjoy working at the forge all that much; and where March saw competition, she sought comradery. 

All of that bothered him. She knew as much. He made sure everyone knew, their only hint that he’s maybe (definitely) hamming it up being how affectionate he gets towards her during his drunken Friday nights at the inn. It had been nearly a year since she moved in, so there was no fooling anyone anymore… drunken words are sober thoughts, and all that. But that wouldn’t stop him.

As December turned from Olric and made her way towards the redhead, he pretended like he didn’t notice her. Like his heart didn’t feel palpable in his chest, and his palms didn’t feel clammy beneath the leather that protected him from the scorching metal he handled.

She silently watched him for a few moments. He was unsure if she was looking for conversation or simply observing his techniques, but either way, it pissed him off a little. 

“Is it just me,” he led her on, “or are you getting more skilled…” 

His gaze met hers, which swam with something he couldn’t put his finger on. Curiosity? Hopefulness? Why was she so hard to read? 

“…at breathing down my neck while I’m working?” he finished with a glare. 

December’s mouth twitched and her dark grey brows furrowed slightly, but she otherwise didn’t react. As she took a few steps closer, she dug through her backpack, eventually pulling out a bar of chocolate.

She held the snack up between them. March kept his agitated expression plastered on her grasp. He couldn’t help but notice that, despite having delicate fingers and neatly shaped cuticles, her hands looked rough and calloused, with some dirt speckled beneath her nails. 

He had the urge to hold them, massage them until they were less sore, help her groom them so that she would have one less thing to worry about—

Wait. What?

When March didn’t take the bar outright, December explained, “Olric told me once that you have a sweet tooth. So do I,” she shrugged, “so I thought maybe we could share it.”

…Huh.

March ripped his stare from December’s hand and scanned her face, his own warming up when he noticed how intently she was watching him. He chewed the inside of his cheek in an effort to ground himself.

Rather than thanking her — like he knew he should — he ran his mouth. “Are you trying to butter me up with food I like?”

She raised a brow, retracted her arm, and spun on the heel of her boots. “Guess you don’t want this, then.” 

It almost sounded like she was teasing him.

Why did that excite him?

“Wait,” he said, wrapping a hand around the farmer’s wrist. 

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he could’ve sworn there was a mischievous glint in her eye. She was winding him up on purpose. 

“U-um,” he stuttered at the realization, “Fine. I need a break anyway.”

The corner of December’s lips that he could see curled up ever so slightly while she looked at their joined skin, wordless. It took a moment for March to snap out of his trance and let go. 

With the chocolate still in its wrapper, she snapped it in half, tore it open, and took the top piece before handing March the contained rest of it. Then, he watched her as she made her way to the wall nearby. She slid her bag from her shoulders before leaning against the stone, tilting her head to the sky, presumably to watch the clouds rolling overhead. 

“Not even gonna give me the first half?” he complained, joining her.

He didn’t actually care. He didn’t know why he was being combative.

He never really did.

December broke off a square and popped it into her mouth, nudging March with her elbow. “Figured you wouldn’t want your grubby hands touching it.”

He took off his gloves and tossed them aside, then shimmied the treat closer to its foil opening. “Grubby?” 

She nodded. “I know damn well they’re sweaty.”

Feeling a little self conscious, March scanned his free hand while he took a bite directly out of the candy bar with the other. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue, enjoying both that and how the late autumn breeze felt on his skin while he opened and closed his fist.

…She wasn’t wrong. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, wiping his palm on his apron. December breathed a laugh out of her nose. “At least my nails aren’t gross.”

She leaned in to get a better look, as if to confirm if his words were true. When her coconut-scented shampoo wafted to him from her blindingly white hair, he couldn’t deny how his stomach fluttered.

With a small “Hm,” she leaned back against the stone, proceeding to study her own hands before nodding. “I should start wearing gloves while I farm.” 

March’s mouth moved before his brain could stop him. “I might have a spare pair, if you want them.” What? “I-I mean, they might not fit, though.” They definitely wouldn’t. They’d be huge on her. He knew this because she’s literally worn them at the forge. “And they’re thick.” No shit, Sherlock, they have to be.

She politely shook her head, but smiled to herself. As his chest swelled with pride, he realized that he really liked making her smile. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that. He angrily stuffed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth.

“You already gave me a hoe, I don’t want you to supply all of my stuff.”

“You better be putting it to good use.”

“Of course I am,” she scoffed. “It’s nice. It feels weightless.”

“Obviously.” Tilting his chin up and smirking, March bragged, “I’m the greatest blacksmith in Aldaria after all.” He punctuated the claim with a wink.

December looked away, the tips of her ears rosy, if March wasn’t mistaken. Hm. “Bold words.”

“I’ll have you know that I—“

“Yeah, yeah, trophies and medals and et cetera.”

“And what do you have?” he prodded.

“I have my own awards…” she pouted as she slipped the last square of chocolate between her lips. “Just not the same kind.”

“And you never will.”

“Can’t we just get along?” 

“Can’t you stop bugging me every day?”

“Some things are simply unknowable.”

March laughed. December grinned up at him, visibly proud to have gotten a reaction, and the blacksmith quickly turned away, covering his reddening face with his fist. The foil crumpled within it became a stress toy for a beat before he tossed it into the nearby trash bin.

“I have work to do,” he grunted, sliding his gloves back on. “Scram.”

December put on a low and gruff voice in a poor attempt to mimic March’s, “Thank you for the chocolate, December. That was fun, December.”

He stopped himself from laughing this time, but being turned away from her view, he at least let himself smile. “Goodbye.”

“Smell you later.”

“S-smell..?” March whispered to himself. 

He gave his pits a quick sniff. It’s a given that he wouldn’t smell like roses, working such a physical profession, but he had no more of a musk than usual.

“I don’t—“ he started to defend himself. When he turned around, December was already gone. “Damn it.”

__

March was wrapping up for the day as December made her way back down the road. Her hair, which had been down before, was now tied in a high and messy ponytail; her jacket laid securely around her waist, revealing a high-necked, sleeveless, navy blue top; and her arms and cheeks were littered with dirt and cuts that were just begging to get infected.

March sighed. 

He guessed he’d have to do something to help. 

Not like he wanted to, or anything. 

It was for her, not him. 

Not that he cared. 

Whatever. 

“The fuck happened to you?” he prompted when she was within earshot.

She dumped her jacket and noticeably heavier bag near the wall they’d leaned on earlier, trudged up the steps to the forge, and made a beeline for the spare apron and gloves March kept near the furnace. 

She looked exhausted.

“Monsters,” December answered simply, untangling the straps and beginning to lift the apparel over her head. 

No way in hell he was letting her forge now. With all those injuries and the dark circles under her eyes, she would surely just hurt herself even m—

…She would mess something up. 

She would… break something? 

Burn his… apron? 

Something...

Ugh.

March stomped over to the farmer and wrapped his hands around her forearms, pulling them up and towards him before taking back his apron. 

“Nuh-uh.” She stared at him plainly, her hands still frozen mid-air. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, you— not like—“ he stopped himself with a grunt, lest he accidentally admit how pretty she looked despite her disheveled appearance. “Come on.” He took one of December’s hands in his and ushered her into the smithy. 

She went along without question, allowing March to only hope that she was content with this. He sat her down at the stool beside his blueprint-riddled desk; disappeared into another room, reappearing with a first-aid kit; kneeled down in front of her; and got started right away, opting to not explain himself. 

December winced a little at the pain of antiseptic on a gash near her wrist. March told her to hold still. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he wondered what it tasted like, and that thought startled him. He immediately averted his gaze so that he wouldn’t be so tempted to try and find out.

December didn’t say a word while March tended to her wounds, which he was thankful for. She probably already noticed how gently he was treating her. How his everlasting scowl was more so focused than peeved this time. And he knew he’d drive himself mad wondering all the possible ways she could have been perceiving him, so he did his best not to linger on it. 

He settled into a simple rhythm of blotting antiseptic with a cotton ball, applying ointment to the deeper cuts, and bandaging, before scanning for the next area to treat. He didn’t even think twice before standing between December’s legs, cupping her face in his non-dominant hand to care for a wound just above her eyebrow. 

He only noticed how intimate it was when he felt her face burning up beneath his touch. If he hadn’t seen the starstruck look in her usually blank eyes, or the pinkness to her washed-out skin, he would have just assumed she overworked herself into a fever and scolded her accordingly.

March’s eyes widened slightly while his cheeks quickly began to rival his hair. He parted his lips as if to say something, but nothing came out. Seeing December so flustered just flustered him right back… what should he even say at a time like this?

A wave of relief washed over him when she averted her gaze. He took the opportunity to get back to the task at hand — the sooner he could get her the hell out, the sooner he would be able to relish in the feeling of knowing that he didn’t do something stupid that would change the trajectory of their dynamic forever.

At the sound of her voice, though, his hand stilled again. “Um,” December started. There was a pause before she went on, “Thanks for doing this.”

A silent moment lingered between them while March tried to figure out an answer. His gaze rested on her eyelids; whether it was shyness or discomfort keeping her from looking back up at him, he couldn’t say. 

The normal thing to do would be to tell her that it’s no problem at all. That it felt right. That he wanted her to be safe. Whatever pleasantries people would typically say in response to a “thank you.”

Instead, he did what he does best. “Well… just think of this as repayment for the snack.” 

Damn it, March.

In spite of her medic being a dick, December still smiled to herself. March’s heart stuttered at the feeling of her skin dimpling beneath his palm in turn. He’d always kind of wondered what that would feel like…

Without thinking, he let his thumb lazily swipe at it while he patted her cut with the dry side of the cotton; and when she melted into his touch like ores over the hot coals of his furnace, he began to wonder if it was worth it to keep up his charade of distrust and malcontent towards her. 

All he wanted to do was tell her he wanted to do this for her. That he cared about her, that he was tired of pretending for others and himself that he felt any other way. That he wanted to kiss her over and over until she smiled so much that her dimples were permanently carved into her cheeks.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, though, nothing changed.

[suncaptor]

I will still be standing with loneliness...

[banished-away]

artemis and dahlia are so good. the contrast between the supposed hero drizzt always keeping her at an arm's lenght, preferring the "soft look" she puts on to please him where she acts and looks softer and covers her tattoos and scars, knowing she had a painful past but not bothering to ask or look into it because it would shake his morals and he would rather pretend to not know than to actually confront it or even help dahlia through it. meanwhile the supposedly cold killer artemis with just a few looks saw the pain in her, let her have the kill against herzgo because he realized it was important to her even if he had just as good reasons and he didnt know dahlia's yet, and when they were alone he let dahlia be vulnerable to him, asked her about her pain, and when she was not comfortable to speak about it he just stayed near her and comforted her

[quillkiller]

sorry to say but barty + the rosier twins are in love and i’ve thought about nothing else since yesterday

[gaydogmarriage]

alhaitham is such a lying liar who lies dude. acting like he and the sumeru boys gang have always been besties since forever. "that's how it's always been with the four of us" - man who has barely spoken to most of these people before he decided to team up with them to overthrow the government and regularly skips social gatherings with them. yeah right buddy ok

[lohstandfound]

hm.... exploring jake as nonbinary/agender who very much performs the act of masculinity because that is what is expected of him and coming to terms that he doesn't have to be, maybe he doesn't have to force himself into that mould

[dennisboobs]

plain and simple i am not going to be able to remain in this fandom long-term if i have to keep putting disclaimers on every single one of my posts that say i don't condone dennis' bad, bad actions and that i am in fact aware he's got a history of sexual assault and dubious/nonconsent. the entire gang has done heinous shit. why is dennis the only one who needs to be treated like this? if some rando wants to post about how dennis is pookie pie that doesn't automatically mean they're blind to his crimes. every single member of the gang is a piece of shit. that's kind of the point.

draw dennis with cat ears who give a shit

[martyrbat]

habeas corpus – detective comics #1086

(ID in alt!)

[acerikus]

Someone being extremely annoying in the replies of my flowey and clover gif and I'm running out of patience 😭

[absolutelyzoned]

is it mean that i never want to do things for other people when they ask me to

[arsenicflame]

well i think its finally time to open this box

[gibbearish]

got probably trans in your quiz. what does it mean if every time I get 'you're transmasc' or I go to that turn-me-into-a-boy website and click on it I get tears in my eyes :' like are those good tears or bad tears I'll never figure out (silly question you don't need to answer take care of yourself <3 )

actual question is the whole 'oh I wish I was a 'real' girl I wish I was better at being a girl' (I'm afab, you can replace girl with whatever the agab is of the person) a trans thing??? I always felt so weird and overdramatic about that because it's like I have the. tools that'd make it easier to 'be' a woman in a sense by virtue of being afab and having feminine characteristics but I hate them except so when I'm like 'wish I liked these and I could just be a woman' I'm like HUH??

anon i want you to reread the first three words of this ask and ask yourself if they already answer your question

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

Me: I'm fine about my autism now btw, like I've come to terms with my fixated interests, limited tolerances and social inabilities. The alienation it brings is not ideal but it's just a reality I've gotta deal with now that I know it's just a part of who I am. I mean, it's not like an awkward conversation is gonna ruin anyone's life, is it? We'll both move on from it eventually. This is fine!

Also me: physically unable to watch beyond the first word of the first question of The Assembly because oh my god what if someone says something awkward or controversial or someone can't make themselves understood people are gonna get mad and scream about it online and I will freeze up and be stuck in the backlash forever I don't know how to handle conflict AT ALL let's just hide in the corner behind the sofa instead wait what if I became a hermit actually yeah yeah yeah that sounds good let's do that

[fionnaskyborn]

one day when i am not busy dying on the inside and out i will write an honest-to-god essay about how people are, for the lack of a better descriptor but simultaneously for the lack of a more perfect one, too edgy about five.

[zefforuins]

-/&;3;